Here Comes Your Man
by tempus terere
Summary: Two strangers have a talk in the park. — Dawn, Paul, AU


**warning:** this is not a love story.**  
notes: **for poképrompts' prompt #4: The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDaniel. I haven't written non-Pokémon!AU in a while, I hope I didn't screw up.

here comes your man

It's Monday morning and Dawn thinks about skipping work. The park's small pond sparkles in the early sunlight, bathes in it and wears it as though it belongs to it. She's almost alone except for that man with the book on the other bench a few metres away from her. It's quiet. The birds—those which are still here and have not fled to the south yet—don't dare sing in front of people anymore, the wind has gone to take a rest, and the tall skyscrapers surrounding the park drown out every sound, every cough that the city makes.

Something in the air tells Dawn that today is The Day—the day to stand up and leave the common silence behind—and she is ready. She has waited long enough, after all.

It's quiet. The man on the other bench flips a page in his book. Her mouth feels dry and heavy and hollow. It's quiet. She squints her eyes to make out the title of the book. It's a textbook about chemistry. Her heart flops up and down as she licks her lips nervously. Up. Down. Suddenly, she doesn't feel so ready at all. Up. Down. Up. It's quiet.

"T-that's a good book you're reading," she chokes out and every syllable has her gagging for breath. There's blood rushing through her head, loud and unstoppable. Faintly, she hopes the air is right.

The man does not answer. In fact, his ears only so much as twitch at her weak attempt for conversation. Dawn's heartbeat sinks a bit. It's quiet.

"I-I said t-that's a good book you're reading," she tries again and feels ashamed of the way she stumbles over the phrase. She used to be so good with words. Back in the day, when justice could still be trusted.

The man—tall but hardly older than her—grudgingly sets down his book and turns to send her a questioning look. The coal grey of his eyes reminds her of the world and its future if she continues to do what her government would like her to: nothing.

Inhaling sharply, she jerks her gaze toward the ground. "Really good … and worth reading," she trails off, but doesn't quite want to give up yet. No, she wants to change. Not only herself but this entire country which deserves (needs) someone to finally speak up for its rights.

The man still won't answer; just glares at her through the fringe of his poorly plum dyed hair, unmoving. Dawn knows he does, she can feel his stare on the back of her neck. It's quiet.

"You're not a very talkative kind of person, are you?" She chuckles awkwardly and begins to fumble with the ruffled hem of her skirt. "But who am I to blame you for that? Speaking freely is almost impossible nowadays." Her expression becomes sullen and she can't keep the disappointment from washing over her. She closes her eyes. Now she can feel the man's stare even more intensively. It's burning a hole into her.

"You stupid or something?"

Dawn cringes at the sound of a voice other than her own, especially this one. It's cracking and dusty, as if he hasn't used it in a very long while.

"W-what," she says, knowing she sounds strangled and probably a bit hysterical. No-one has ever answered her before.

When he doesn't say anything else, she has no idea how she should react, so she does what she does best. "Don't you think it's rather rude to call someone you don't even know stupid?"

The response comes fast and doesn't amount to anything. "No."

It makes her both indignant and sad. She thought he might be different—he might share her thoughts—but he seems to be the absolute opposite of her. And although she is pretty sure she is supposed to hate him now, she just cannot bring herself to. There is something in her innermost self that grabs her at her arm and stops her from going that far. Maybe, no, most likely it's better this way.

She takes in a deep breath, stands up, briskly and cleanly, and lets their eyes meet. For her, holding the contact is a challenge, but she manages it all right.

"Well, I guess I am," she smiles. It's genuine, _real_ this time, albeit a little painful.

This Monday morning has changed Dawn, and even though it's only a small step compared to the long journey that lies ahead of her, it's still an important one. She will not allow some "feeling" to determine her actions anymore. It will be her who decides which day is The Day and, when the time has come, she will seize it.

The man quirks an eyebrow as she leaves for (r)evolution.

FIN.


End file.
